Convertimini Tempus
by Lady Evadne
Summary: With Draco gone, one last Horcrux to find and everyone depending on her, Hermione does what she needs to do. Dumbledore's task sounds easy enough, but it gets harder when Tom Riddle decides that Hermione must be his.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.**

_Hey guys! So this is my first multi-chapter fanfic on , and it's my second fanfic on the site. :D It's a Tom Riddle Jr. x Hermione Granger, simply because I think they make a gorgeous couple in a strange kind of way, so…enjoy!_

_~ Mae_

_P.S I know it's not much of a first message to readers, but I'm kind of out of creative juices at the moment. x-x_

**Convertimini Tempus**

**Chapter 1**

"I do." The corner of Draco's mouth quirked, and if she hadn't been watching his face so attentively, she wouldn't have caught it. Her own mouth curved shyly in response, all she could manage while she was being overcome with such emotion. He smirked openly at that.

"And do you, Hermione Jean Granger, take Draco Malfoy as your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to cherish him, to honour him as a wizard and a man, and to remain faithful to him until death?"

A crystal tear, one she had been holding in since the start of the ceremony, finally dripped down Hermione's cheek. This was what she had been waiting for since she was a small girl. A beautiful wedding, a beautiful dress, and beautiful family and friends to surround her. She looked around at the gathered faces, the Weasleys, Harry and Ginny, her Professors, Professor Dumbledore, and she smiled brightly.

It faltered slightly when she remembered that Draco didn't have any family or friends here, but he had assured her it was fine, that all he wanted was her, and she didn't want to let melancholy thoughts ruin the happiest day of her life. Even if that day was in the middle of the war.

"I do," she said clearly and proudly.

"Please join hands," the minister, an elderly man with long grey hair, ordered, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

Hermione's small delicate hand found its way into Draco's larger hand, and they looked expectantly at the small man. He gave them a kind smile, and waved his wand.

Silver and gold strands of light erupted from the tip, and then wove their way around the two joined hands. Hovering for a fraction of a second, they sunk into Hermione and Draco's skin, and the two gasped in surprise and delight. The bonding had given them a euphoric feeling.

"You may now kiss the br-"

Suddenly, what sounded like an explosion echoed through the large marquee the wedding had been held in. Hermione and Draco, who had been leaning in to kiss each other, froze with shock. That sounded like-

"Everybody, get your wands out!" The minister that had married them had his own out, and his loud roar belied his small stature. "Get them out _now!_"

Hermione and Draco stole a quick glance at each other, before Draco whipped his wand out. Hermione wanted to scream. Her wand was tucked in her garter, and her dress had so many layers… If only Mrs. Weasley and her mother hadn't convinced her to add so many layers to the dress! She struggled through the first five, and then decided to rip the rest out. Reaching for her wand, she slid it out of her garter and pointed it at the entrance of the marquee.

The rest of the guests also had their wands out. The marquee was silent, and the air tense. They waited with apprehension… Hermione's eyes slid to Draco's. _Don't die_, she pleaded with him. _Please, don't die._ He looked back at her with an undecipherable look. After a few seconds, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, before whispering in her ear, "I want you to Disillusion yourself and Potter and Weasley. You three need to get out of here. You're critical to the cause. If you're lost, the cause is lost."

"Draco, I-"

He placed a finger on her lips. "Don't question it. Just do it. You need to get out of here. I hope I'll see you after we've kicked all their arses."

"Draco," Hermione whispered, moisture gathering in her eyes. "You have to come out of here alive. Promise me."

Draco remained silent. Anger welled up in her.

"Promise me, Draco Malfoy," she hissed. "I didn't marry you just for you to leave me."

Still he hesitated, before replying. "I promise."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I love you."

"I love you too," Draco murmured. He pulled her closer, and turned her around, before lowering his lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. A kiss that felt like goodbye. He pulled away before she was ready to let him go. "They're coming." His voice was suddenly sharp, his posture stiff and his face devoid of any warmth. "Wand at the ready."

Hermione nodded, her eyes trained on the entrance. "I can't believe they're gate crashing our wedding."

"It's the most scandalous wedding in Pureblood history," Draco replied dryly. "Of course they're going to crash it."

Before Hermione could reply, the entrance to the marquee burst open, and in strolled Lucius Malfoy. Draco gasped audibly, and the man with the long blonde hair turned to him. He moved the slightest step towards his son, and in an instant, ten wands were pointing at his neck.

"Calm down, calm down," Lucius murmured, his own voice serene. He took out his wand and leisurely examined it. Then, his head snapped up and he met his son's eyes. His voice grew louder. "Draco," he said in what might have been a warm tone if a sneer didn't accompany it, "how delighted I am to see you in such fine clothing. You look almost as if you deserve the Malfoy name."

"Father," Draco sneered right back. "What are you doing here?"

Lucius had the gall to look surprised. "I'm merely here with my best wishes. Isn't that the norm, a father congratulating his son on his wedding day?"

"Not for you," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Where are your Death Eater friends? Surely they'd want to join in on the _party_."

"They didn't want to be in the presence of such filth." Lucius' eyes moved to Hermione, and he appraised her silently. "Although she is a fine looking one indeed." Hermione shuddered, feeling violated. The hand gripping her wand tightened. "But since you insist on looking for them, I might just call them." Before anyone could stop him, he ripped his sleeve up and pressed his wand to the Dark Mark.

Dozens of pops sounded, and the enclosed space was suddenly filled with light moving in all directions, hexes, curses and jinxes being thrown around. Remembering what Draco had told her, she Disillusioned herself and made sure to move in the areas where no one was fighting. She kept a good eye out just in case.

"Draco!" Hermione cried when she realised her husband was not beside her. She looked frantically around, trying to spot a head of short, platinum hair, but she couldn't see one. However, she did see Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini with their wands trained on Ron and Ginny. She couldn't see what they were saying, but her eyes widened when she saw green light burst from the tips of their wands.

"No!" she screamed, her voice shrill. "_Protego!_"

The shield blocked Ron and Ginny momentarily, and it gave them just enough time to Stun both Pansy and Blaise, and then clip bracelets around them. They instantly disappeared, Portkeyed to a holding room at Hogwarts. Ron and Ginny both looked around to find their saviour, but ran off when they couldn't see one. Before Ron could join another battle, Hermione quickly Disillusioned him as well and pulled him in a corner of the large tent.

"Wha-"

"Ron," Hermione said quietly. "It's me, Hermione."

She felt Ron slump in relief. "I thought you were a Death Eater." If she really had been a Death Eater, he would be dead. His reflexes still weren't very good.

There was a pause. "Why did you Disillusion me? We have to get back to the battle!" He made to run off, but Hermione tightened her grip on him.

"Stay here!" she hissed. "Draco told me to Disillusion you and Harry. We have to get out of here. The cause depends on us. We have to be quick, because my Disillusionment charms are not strong, and they won't last long. Where's Harry?"

"I don't know. When I saw him last, it was when Malfoy walked into the tent."

"Oh no! We need to find him!"

"Wait- wait a second." Another pause. "That's him! Over there fighting Wormtail!"

Hermione looked in that direction, and pushed Ron to the ground. She then placed a chair near him to mark him. "Stay here, I'm going to get Harry. Stay down, and _don't get involved in any more fights._" Trusting him to recognise the direness of the situation, she left to get Harry.

When she was near, she stopped and stared in awe at Harry. He seemed so angry, fighting the indirect killer of his parents, that his hair crackled and his eyes blazed with fury. He radiated power, and she could feel it coming off him in waves.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Wormtail squeaked, pointing his wand at Harry, but nothing but a wisp of smoke came out. He quickly but clumsily blocked Harry's attempt to blow him up.

"Wormtail!" A voice hissed from somewhere else. "_The Dark Lord said to leave Potter for him!_"

"He's trying to kill me!" Wormtail squealed back, not taking his eyes off Harry. "He's going to-"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Wormtail dropped to the ground, his eyes glassy. Hermione stepped out of her stupor, Disillusioning Harry as quickly as she could. Like she had done with Ron, she grabbed him, but Silenced him, knowing he would scream loudly.

"Harry, it's Hermione," she whispered. "Don't struggle, please, I need to get us out of here alive." In spite of her commands, she felt her grip on Harry loosening. "Stop it, Harry! Stop it! I'll Stun you if I have to!" That stopped him, and she dragged him to where the chair was that she had used to mark Ron. "Ron, are you here?"

There was a muffled moan. "Subwon stepped on by nobe."

"We'll deal with that later," Hermione said quickly, "we have to get out of here first. We don't have much time. My Disillusions aren't going to last long. Harry, did you see You-Know-Who in the marquee?" There was silence. "Harry? Harry?" There was a soft hit on her arm, and she remembered he was Silenced. She undid the spell.

"Hermione, what the bloody hell?" she heard Harry's disembodied voice gasp. "You didn't need to Silence me!"

"You would have screamed to the high heavens," Hermione snapped back. "Now shut up and answer me. We're losing time. Did you see You-Know-Who?"

"Yes," came Harry's disgusted voice. "He was sitting in the middle of the chaos with this shield around him, just watching. I have to go and help-"

"No," Hermione barked. "You need to get out alive. If you die, all of this will have been for nothing. All those people dying." That shut him up. Hermione went back to hurriedly thinking.

"Damn," she muttered. "You-Know-Who'll definitely notice the shimmers, even if they're faint." She really wished that she knew a spell that would turn them completely invisible, complete without a shimmery outline. "How am I going to do this?"

"I say we just hope he's looking the other way," Harry replied, although his voice clearly said that he was still annoyed. She really didn't need this in the middle of the battle.

"Fine," Hermione concluded, not knowing any other way to get out of here. "Ron? Can you stand up?"

"Yeh," came the reply. "It wab just a bloody nobe." She groped for both their hands blindly.

"Dodge everything. Pay no attention to battles. No stops at all, no matter who's fighting. Got it?"

There were two affirmatives. "Ok, let's go."

They dodged purple lights and blue spells that whizzed past their heads. One spell sent from the Dark side blew a large hole in the side of the marquee that they might have escaped through, had it not resulted in a dead end. They were almost at the entrance when Hermione heard a familiar voice.

"_Stupefy!_"

"Wee Draco's using baby spells, now, is he?" Bellatrix Lestrange cackled, and Hermione turned in horror to see her husband shooting spells at his Aunt, trying desperately to incarcerate her. "Be a man! _Crucio!_"

Draco fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

"No! Merlin, _no!_" Hermione screamed before she could stop herself, and she lunged forward. Harry and Ron both tried to restrain her, but it was difficult, seeing as they couldn't see her. Ron tried to warn her. "Hermione, the Disillusion's wearing off-"

Hermione ignored them both. "Draco! Please, Draco! Get up!" She was not aware that she was now fully visible again, or that Ron and Harry had left. As much as they didn't want to leave their best friend behind, what she had said was true. If they died, the cause was lost. So they had left before they were fully discernible, before the Death Eaters could capture them.

Bellatrix had turned to Hermione now. "And my Blood Traitor nephew's Mudblood bride comes out to play," she taunted, her wand still torturing Draco. "Shall I give you my wedding present now, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Get away from Draco, you-"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" The green shot from Bellatrix's wand before Hermione could say another word, and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for death. When it did not come, her eyes snapped open, and widened in horror when she saw Draco's lifeless body.

Hermione's anguished scream tore through the whole tent, and every fight halted, every eye turned to her. "_Draco!_"

There was a silence.

"Bravo!" Voldemort laughed, clapping his hands and standing up from his throne-like chair in the middle of the chaos. "Well done, Bellatrix. And you too, Mudblood Bride. Such a heart-wrenching performance."

"Thank you, milord," Bellatrix replied, preening in the praise. Her dark eyes lifted to look at Hermione. "You didn't like my present, Mudblood Bride? Oh well, I've been told it's the thought that counts." She cackled manically. "You can join him, I guess." She lifted her wand once more and pointed it at Hermione and-

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a thud, and Bellatrix Lestrange knew no more.

Hermione looked positively terrifying. Like Harry before, her hair cackled, her eyes blazed and her aura strengthened until it was painful to be near her. "You killed Draco, and so a present in return was in order," she said in a frighteningly calm voice. She raised her head and looked Voldemort in the eye. "How do you feel now that your best witch is gone?"

Voldemort had watched in interest as she had summoned her anger and directed it to the black-haired Lestrange wife. She was certainly powerful. He hadn't seen power like that in – well, he hadn't seen it in a while. When she looked at him, asked him a question, he was about to reply nonchalantly when he stopped. And looked at her. And looked at her some more. Those eyes –

"You…" he breathed, recognition flashing in his eyes. Hermione was confused. She opened her mouth to reply when a shout of "Stupefy!" echoed in the marquee, and fighting began. Sending him an icy glare, she ran out of the marquee, Disillusioning herself again because she knew he would follow her. She heard his roar of rage at her escape, and his order for the Death Eaters to go after her.

She raced through the Weasley's garden until she saw the backdoor of the Burrow. It had been torched, and she could only just stifle a gasp of despair at what she had felt was another home. But she had to get out of here. She knew where Harry and Ron had gone – to the safehouse, Headquarters.

Sprinting through the remains of the Burrow, she ran until she was out of the proximity of the Anti-Apparition wards. She only just caught a glimpse of long white hair, so similar to the hair she had run through her fingers every night leading up to the wedding, before she popped out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.**

_Oh wow. :D I couldn't believe the number of 'favourite story's I got and people who subscribed for alerts for only the first chapter. :o Thank you guys for reading and supporting! Reviews make me feel loved. ;)_

_~ Mae_

_This chapter is dedicated to __literature-angel__, as a 'starting a new grade' gift. 3_

**Chapter 2**

The unforgettable feeling of squeezing through invisible tubes did nothing to comfort her. In fact, the feeling of claustrophobia only added to her fear. When she opened her eyes, she was inside 12 Grimmauld Place. She had never been more thankful for the exceptions Professor Dumbledore had made to the Anti-Apparition wards in this house, so that she, Ron and Harry could always Apparate here in case of trouble.

The familiar screeching of Walburga Black filled the air ("_Mudblood! Dirtying the great House of Black! Filth!_"), but Hermione ignored it, already running before she had even fully materialized in the hallway.

"Ron! Harry! Where are you?" She ducked frantically in and out of rooms, looking for her two best friends. However, the house seemed abandoned, and panic overtook her.

"_Hermione!_" Out of nowhere, Ron came running to her, and wrapped his arms around her. After a few moments, another pair did the same. "We thought you were dead for sure! What happened?"

Hermione allowed relief to overcome her, and in that moment of clarity, the torrent of tears she had been holding in came out.

"Oh, Hermione," she heard Harry say, "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault," Hermione sobbed, "It's all my fault. He wouldn't have died if I'd just stayed with him like I should have."

"Hermione," Ron said gently, sensitivity in his voice that she had never heard before, "he would have wanted you to do what he had asked. You did it, and you succeeded, so you've made him proud, haven't you?"

Hermione only shook her head, tears flying. "No, I should have stayed with him. I needed him to live, dammit! He promised! He promised he'd live!"

"He does live," Harry murmured, "in your heart."

They stood for the next few minutes, Ron and Harry both with their arms around Hermione, whispering comforting words to her. Hermione took the time to let it all out, and when she was done, she felt like she had been wrung dry.

"I killed Bellatrix," she said hollowly. "She killed Draco, so I killed her."

"Good on you, Hermione," Harry said softly. "You've avenged Draco. You don't need to punish yourself for what happened." He was worried she wouldn't be able to live without Draco. Ever since they had gotten together, he had watched as she lit up when he was around, and sunk into near-depression when he was not. But she still had them, and he hoped for all their sakes that they were enough.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked. "We can't stay in here forever. Whoever betrayed us probably knows where Headquarters is."

Hermione shook her head. "Even if they do know, they can't reveal the location, because only the Secret Keeper can. Dumbledore is the only Secret Keeper. The Fidelius will hold." She tried to sound normal, like her normal know-it-all self, pushing all thoughts of what had happened into the back of her mind so they could figure out what happened next. The only way to survive was to live in the here and now.

Both Harry and Ron slumped in relief. "Good." She didn't know if that was directed towards her comment about the Fidelius or her sudden change in demeanour, but she let it go.

"Shall I make us some tea?" she asked. "You two can go sit in the sitting room."

They nodded wearily. "Sure, that'd be great, Hermione."

Shaking her head, she headed to the kitchen. She knew if it was anyone else, they'd be offering to make tea for _her_, after everything she had gone through. The normality of it all distracted and comforted her.

Setting about making tea, she could only find teabags. She eyed them for a moment distastefully, before putting the kettle on and shrugging. It would do for now.

Using magic to speed the kettle up, Hermione waved her wand, and made the tea the way she knew her best friends liked it. Putting two sugars in her own, she directed the cups onto a tray and brought it out.

"Thanks, 'Mione," Harry said gratefully, taking his and sipping on it. Ron murmured his own thanks in agreement.

They sat on the sofa silently, sipping their tea and thinking.

"Who do you think betrayed us?" asked Ron, breaking the silence. Both Hermione and Harry shrugged.

"I'd like to think that no one at our wedding would do something like that," Hermione muttered, "but now that that notion has gone out the window, I guess it could have been anyone there."

"It wasn't any of the Weasleys," said Harry firmly. "I'd trust all of them with my own life." Ron nodded fervently.

"I bet it was Snape, the slimy greaseball," he growled. "He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. I always knew he was a good for nothing Death Eater!"

"It couldn't have been Severus," Hermione said, as firmly as Harry had been. "I'd trust him with _my_ life, and he loves Draco too much, even if he doesn't show it." She had spent a lot of time with her fiancé's godfather ever since she and Ron and Harry had been forced to hide out in Headquarters the summer before their seventh year.

They both found that brewing potions for the medical stores of the Order was a very good way of calming down after explosive meetings and that it was also a good activity for those who could not sleep for nightmares. Hermione had tentatively built a friendship with the man, and Draco had been very pleased about that. None of her other friends had been as thrilled, but they had accepted it.

"Well then," Ron continued, not trying to hide his anger, "maybe Luna's father. I always said there was something fishy about him. He's gone nutters." He drained his cup and banged it onto the table forcefully. Both Hermione and Harry winced.

"It'll do us no good to try and find the traitor," Hermione said calmly, logic taking over. "What's done is done. We just have to wait for the other Order members to come, and then we'll find out what to do then."

Ron turned pale. "Suppose no one comes back?"

"Don't think like that," Harry hissed. "They're all going to come back fine."

Ron didn't look reassured at all. "Just say-"

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped. Ron's mouth shut with an audible crack.

There was another silence, before Hermione suddenly sat up, stiff and her eyes wide.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry asked anxiously, watching as she went slightly pale.

"I- I've got to go somewhere," Hermione stammered, and she ran for the stairs.

"Hermione! Wait, we'll-"

"_Don't follow me!_"

They stopped and stared at each other, watching her disappear up the stairs. They trusted her, but they were worried. That wasn't anything like the normal Hermione.

Hermione strode quickly up another flight of stairs. She had just remembered something Professor Dumbledore had told her on one of his visits from Hogwarts to Headquarters earlier in the year. The memory was brought to the front of her mind.

"_Hermione, I'd like to talk to you," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes without the slightest hint of a twinkle. Hermione had been curled up in Draco's lap in the sitting room with Ron, Harry and Ginny, sipping hot chocolate in front of the fire and laughing. The noise had abruptly stopped when the Headmaster had approached her. "If you'll follow me to a place where we will not be overheard?"_

_Hermione and Draco exchanged a look._

"_Surely we should be allowed to hear what you-" Draco began, but was cut off by the older man._

"_I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, that this is a private matter for Miss. Granger's ears alone."_

_Draco fell silent._

"_It's ok," Hermione murmured, "I'll be back soon, yeah?"_

_Her fiancé of one day reluctantly let her to her feet, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Ok."_

_Hermione followed the Headmaster up the first flight of stairs in 12 Grimmauld Place, and then up the second. She had rarely ventured to the third story of the building, this being the floor where Buckbeak was kept. Actually, no one really came here, except to feed the Hippogriff. Her curiosity was piqued._

"_Sir, what is this about?" she asked cautiously. The old man stopped abruptly in front of Buckbeak's room._

"_You will find out soon enough, Miss. Granger. Please, follow me."_

_He opened the door, where Buckbeak seemed to be resting. When he saw his visitors, his eyes narrowed and he stood up._

_Dumbledore bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on the Hippogriff. After a few seconds, the creature returned the greeting._

"_Over here, Hermione. Stay close to me."_

_The hair on the back of her neck stood up at being watched so closely by such a dangerous being, but she followed Professor Dumbledore anyway. They made their way to the corner of the room the Hippogriff had seemed to be guarding, and taking his wand out, Dumbledore pointed it at the wall and murmured, "Jellybeans." _

_Hermione jumped when part of the wall seemed to fall away, to reveal a door about as high as she was._

"_Wha-?"_

"_Soon, Miss. Granger," Dumbledore said impatiently. He stepped through the door, beckoned for Hermione to do the same, and then tapped his wand to it so the door closed and melted back into the wall. He then turned to Hermione, and conjured two seats. "Take a seat, please, Miss. Granger." _

_Hermione nervously seated herself. "May I know why you have taken me here now, Professor?"_

_Dumbledore, surprisingly for all his foreboding disposition, let out a small chuckle. "You may." He observed her over the rim of his glasses. "I have an important task for you, which you and you alone must carry out."_

"_Of course, sir," Hermione said, sitting straighter. "What is it?"_

"_I think there is a traitor in the Order," Dumbledore said, sighing. "I do not know who it is, but I have my suspicions." _

_Hermione looked horrified. "A traitor? But why?"_

"_Alas, that is the thousand Galleon question," Dumbledore said tiredly. He ran a hand over his face. _

"_What does this have to do with me?" Hermione sounded even more nervous. _

"_As I said, there is a task you must perform. I am to understand that you will soon become the newest Mrs. Malfoy?"_

_Hermione flushed. "Yes, sir. Draco and I decided that we should marry quickly, because of the war."_

_Dumbledore nodded. "A wise decision. However, I have fear that the traitor will lead the Death Eaters to either engage the Order in battle at your wedding or when we move Harry and the rest of the Order to Hogwarts, to prepare for the Final Battle. I hope it will be at the latter time, but we must be prepared for all possible outcomes._

"_Therefore, I must reveal this knowledge to you." _

_He gestured to a table in the corner she had not noticed before now. It had a small Potions vial, and a notebook on it. "When the time comes that the Death Eaters decide to attack us, you must come here, to this room as soon as you can. The potion and notebook will be here for your use, and you must make use of them. Do not attempt to come in here before that time, for they will not appear. I cannot tell you what they do now, only that they will help you get rid of Voldemort, for they will only work in dire circumstances and will kill the user if used in a situation not so life-threatening. Suffice it to say that they will help you do what you need to do. The notebook contains all instructions concerning the potion and what is required of you."_

_Through his explanation, Hermione had not said a word, only listening solemnly. Now she looked up. "So I am to use it without preparation for what it will do to me?" She hated entering anything blind. It was part of the reason she always researched everything she did so thoroughly. _

_Dumbledore nodded. "That is correct."_

_Hermione sighed. "Ok. Is there anything else you wish to tell me, sir?"_

"_Nothing else, Miss. Granger. I trust that what has happened here will not leave this room?"_

_Hermione looked reluctant. "Not even to Draco?"_

"_Not even to Draco."_

_Although she didn't like it, she had to agree. "You have my word, Professor."_

_Dumbledore smiled. "Remember the password I used. And do not come here with anyone. You must be alone when you come, do you understand?"_

_Hermione nodded. "Of course." _

"_Very good. You may leave now, Hermione."_

_And Hermione left the room, and headed back to the sitting room, with much to think about. She was more than a little worried that her wedding would be ruined._

She had let her guard down. She knew there had been the chance that the Death Eaters would crash her wedding, but she had been so sure they would confront the Order at Hogwarts. Oh, how wrong she was. Professor Moody's message of constant vigilance seemed to have not been permanently hammered into her head, and she hoped it wasn't too late.

Presently, she was standing in front of Buckbeak's room. She entered it slowly, cautiously, and was surprised when she saw no beast in there. However, she didn't have time to think of the implications of that. She had to do what Dumbledore had asked her to do.

Taking out her wand, she ran to the corner of the room Dumbledore had led her to in a time that seemed so long ago and muttered, "Jellybeans."

The wall crumbled away and the wooden door was revealed. She practically flung it open, eager for her chance to rid the world of her husband's indirect killer. She raced to the table with the potions and the notebook, and flipped it open. A little scrap of parchment fell out. It looked like it had been ripped from a textbook. Hermione picked it up, frowning.

_**Convertimini Tempus**_

_This potion, created by Potions Master Antoine Maunier (1765-1842), is a time-travel potion. The name is loosely translated to 'Turn the time' in Latin, and is one of the most difficult potions to brew. The Ministry of Magic banned its use in 1942, 100 years after Maunier's death._

_Convertimini Tempus is a potion based on intent of the user. It was created to be used as a means to go back in time to change the future. According to users of the potion, multiple wars and notable murders have been prevented with the use of this potion, but these claims are not verifiable, for obvious reasons. _

_The potion can only be used in dire situations, when the user feels the most as if they must go back and change something. If consumed otherwise, it will result in a fatal poisoning. _

_The first recorded use of this potion_

This was where the piece of parchment stopped. Hermione guessed that the rest was not important. She took the notebook and opened it to the first page with writing.

_Hermione,_

_As you have guessed by now, you must travel through time. I say this next part with great emphasis – you must go alone. This has already happened in my past, and if you interfere with what has already happened, it could lead to a situation in which we are in a more dangerous position than we are already in. _

_I do not say this to put pressure on you. I only wish to impress on you the importance of you going alone. __You must go alone__. _

_When you arrive there, you will give my past counterpart the documents in the envelope that should have appeared to you by now._

Hermione's eyes automatically raised themselves from the words on the parchment to scan the desk, and she saw the large envelope mentioned. She went back to perusing the letter.

_Do not worry that what you do in the past will affect the future – only do what your instincts tell you. You will not change the past in that aspect, I am sure of it. _

_Your task is to go back to the time period in which the 17 year old Tom Riddle resides. By this time, he has already made multiple Horcruxes. The ones he made after his graduation have already been destroyed, and aside from the part of the soul that lives in his body, there is one other that we have not identified. This one, by my calculations, must have been made in either his Sixth or Seventh Year. It is your job to find out what this is, by enrolling as a Seventh Year student at the school. It is up to you how you extract this information from him, but remember – not all wars are solved with violence._

_I know for a fact that you will not destroy the Horcrux by the time you return to our time, but it will help immensely to know what it is. It will save us countless months, or years, groping in the dark. _

_The potion was made with Tom's 7__th__ Year in mind, so you need not do anything to take you there aside from taking the potion and speaking the incantation. It is _Convertimini Tempus_ (the same as the potion). Emphasis on the 'ver' and 'mi' of the first word, and 'pus' of the second. You are a brilliant witch, and I'm sure you will get it the first time._

_I know you have already had multiple experiences with a Time Turner, and I trust that you know all the laws and the consequences if you do not follow them._

_Make us proud. Many lives are counting on you. Ones that are already lost will not be returned, but you can save the ones that have as of this moment been preserved._

_APWBD_

With suddenly shaking and fearful hands, Hermione let the letter drop to the ground. She had to go back in time – to the time of a megalomaniac who was intent on killing all people like her. How on Earth was she supposed to do this? Why had this job been giving to _her_ of all people?

Well, she was no use moaning. 'Many lives are counting on you' the letter had said. Harry's life, Ron's life, the Weasleys' lives, the lives of countless and nameless faces. And somewhere, Draco was watching her and urging her to help bring the Wizarding World back to peace. If she wasn't ready to do it for the others, she was for Draco.

With determination filling her, she took the potion vial and examined it in her hand. It was clear, and was filled with a thick, gooey liquid that was the exact shade of tropical seas. She had a feeling that the taste wouldn't be as pleasant as the colour, but after all, potions weren't made for their taste, anyway, were they?

She reached for the thick envelope on the table, and then raised the lip of the vial to her mouth and tipped it back. The texture was very peculiar. It seemed to linger in her mouth, feeling weightless and oddly as if it was floating in her mouth. She swallowed it down with effort, the taste of bogey flavoured Bertie Bott's beans filling her mouth. With difficulty, she managed to stop spluttering enough to say clearly, "_Convertimini Tempus._"

**Author's Note:**

So, I guess Google Translate wasn't my best option, but I used it anyway, because unfortunately I'm not a Latin expert. Convertimini Tempus loosely means 'turn back time' or 'turn the time'.

To reviewers:

Thank you guys for the kind reviews! I was a bit hesitant to post my story at first (I have heaps of these types of fics sitting in my computer, collecting dust xD), but it's worth it to know you guys are liking it. Also, just so you guys know, if you have any suggestions for anything you'd like to happen in the coming chapters, feel free to leave them in reviews or to PM me! I'd love to hear your suggestions. 3


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.**

_Hey guys! I am so, so, so sorry for the long wait.. D: I wasn't feeling particularly creative for about a week, so that meant no writing. And then I had a whole bunch of stuff come up, and that took up all my time. :x This is also a pathetically short chapter, but I promise I'll try and make it all up in the next one._

_On a better note, I'll say now that reviews make me write faster, which makes me update faster!_

_~ Mae_

**Chapter 3**

Hermione had her eyes closed as tightly as they would go as she waited for something – anything – to happen. Maybe a feeling like Apparition? Or the Portkey sensation? Even a whoosh of wind would have been good. But there was nothing.

Her eyes flew open and she looked around confusedly. Had she not done it right? Did she pronounce it wrong? Was she supposed to say the spell before she took the potion? Horrified, she frantically reached for Dumbledore's letter. But he had said '_you need not do anything to take you there aside from taking the potion and speaking the incantation'. _In that order. So she had done it right. Right?

Her mind raced. What would happen to her? Would she die? Would she get sick? Would she faint? She had heard that potions that were not taken correctly could result in poisoning. Or rather, she had read it, but that wasn't the point. What about Potions class? Had Severus said anything about this in any of their classes? Oh, she knew she shouldn't have fallen asleep that one class two years ago! _I bet it was in that class_, she thought manically. _That's when Severus told us how to fix this._

Her internal panicking and rambling was interrupted by a loud crash downstairs, and she was jerked out of her reverie. She stilled, and listened intently, all alarm forgotten. There was another loud crash, and then a few shouts. Death Eaters.

How had they gotten here? How had they passed the Fidelius? Dumbledore wouldn't have told them, and they had no other Secret Keepers. Knowing Voldemort's genius, which she grudgingly admitted to, he might have found a way around it.

There was a cry. "Hermione!"

Her legs spurred into action, her only thought being that whoever had called her – Harry or Ron – could be in danger of dying. And she was _not_ going to lose someone else today.

"I'm coming!" she shouted back as loudly as she could. She reached the door of room, and was about to pull it open when she suddenly felt the strange sensation of falling down an endless pit, and then she was covered in darkness, her last thought being '_I'll save you…_'

She drifted back to consciousness slowly. There seemed to be no time involved, and every time her eyes fluttered open, she saw an old face that was…so familiar, another man who looked very confused and stupid and a girl with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen, brighter than even Dumbledore's…and then her eyes would close again after a few seconds and she would be swallowed by dreams, because this bed she was on was so fluffy, comfy…

She came to on the 31st of August, which happened to be a Thursday. She knew this because there had been a man sitting in the seat beside her bed reading the Daily Prophet with the front cover practically shoved in her face. He was humming incessantly and it was annoying Hermione.

"Would you please stop?" she asked, irritably. "I've got a splitting headache."

The humming stopped and a face appeared above the newspaper. Hermione could barely hold in a gasp when she recognised the face of a younger Albus Dumbledore, with auburn hair and blue eyes. He looked at her curiously, excitedly, and said, "You're finally awake, are you?"

Hermione could think of no response to this that would not make him feel stupid. He was, after all, the man she respected the most, even if he did not know her yet, and she didn't want to insult him. However, her answer must have shown in her eyes, for he chuckled.

"Well, that was a painfully unintelligent question," he smiled, and she saw that it did not completely reach his eyes. There was, now that she looked, the smallest hint of sharp suspicion. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine," she said slowly. She looked around, and concluded that she did not recognise where she was. "Where am I?"

"You are in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore replied. She should have known that. She was in a bed, after all, with Dumbledore sitting in front of her. Shaking her head, she turned her focus back to him. He gestured to the empty room. "The beds have not been set up yet, as term has not started." His voice held the slightest question, and she knew that to earn his trust, she'd need to tell him everything immediately.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, ignoring his look of surprise at her knowing his name, as he had not yet asked for hers, "is there somewhere we can speak in private? I have matters to discuss with you."

There was a long pause as Dumbledore appraised her carefully. Hermione blushed under his continued gaze, but kept her eye contact. Finally, he said, "This place is as good as any other. I will set the appropriate spells to ensure we are not disturbed."

As Dumbledore set about waving his wand around the area around her bed, Hermione took a long sip of water out of the glass on the bedside table, her mind running over what had happened to her. It had seemed like only a few minutes ago, but she had just jumped years and years…and she had been unconscious for a few days as well, she surmised. A quick glance at the front cover of the Daily Prophet again, and she knew she was in 1944. Dumbledore's fingers had been covering the year in the date before, but now it was there for her to see. 1944. She felt slightly faint.

"Now," Dumbledore said, breaking into her thoughts as he sat back down on his chair, "before we begin, I think that pleasantries should be observed. They have been a little late coming, and it seems you already know my name. Nevertheless, I am Albus Dumbledore, professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May I enquire as to your name?" His voice was full of politeness that had never been directed towards her by him since her first and second year, since they had known each other enough to fall into casualness. It made her feel disorientated.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"A Muggleborn?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "I do not recognise your name."

Hermione only nodded, and when it was clear that she was not going to talk anymore, he sighed. "Well, what was it you wished to discuss?"

Hermione hesitated, when she remembered the documents she was supposed to have brought with her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and she looked around, trying to find the large envelope.

"Looking for this?" Dumbledore asked, producing the envelope in question. Hermione looked at him suspiciously, and he quickly reassured her that he and no one else had looked.

Hermione slumped in relief. "Good, because Professor - those documents are for your eyes and your eyes alone."

"Oh?"

Deciding to go for the direct approach, the words tumbled from her mouth. "I'm from 1998," Hermione said bluntly.

Dumbledore didn't react as she had expected. In the small time she had had between meeting the Dumbledore of this time and having this conversation, she had imagined that he might fall out of his chair. Burst out laughing, perhaps. At the very least look shocked.

But he did none of these things. Instead, he gazed back at her, somehow looking amused and earnest at the same time. "Is that so, Miss Granger?"

Anger bubbled in her chest. This was the most inopportune time for Dumbledore's eyes to be twinkling. Before she could make out a livid response, though, he had spoken. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger, I believe you. It was merely a question, although I might have said it more tactfully."

Hermione sent him a reproachful look, and did not say a word. If anything, this made Dumbledore more amused, but he tried to keep this mainly to himself. Wiping his face of mirth, save for the smallest bit still in his eyes, he continued, "And how is it these circumstances came to be, Miss Granger? Say, in a purely hypothetical sense, that I did not believe you. What would you tell me to convince me that what you say is true? I'm sure if it had not been me here, they would have cast your story off as just that – a story – the moment it came out of your mouth."

"Well," Hermione said carefully, "there are those documents that you hold in your hand, for starters." Dumbledore's eyes immediately flew to his hand, in what seemed like supposed bewilderment, before he chuckled, mumbling something about 'old age and old memory'. Giving her a questioning look after he had settled slightly, she nodded, and he used his wand to neatly cut open the envelope.

"You do not mind, Miss Granger, if I spend the next few minutes perusing these papers?" Hermione nodded again, and Dumbledore immediately retrieved the documents from the packet and started reading them. For about fifteen minutes, the only sound in the vacant Hospital Wing was the sound of papers being shuffled. Hermione entertained herself by counting the tiles in the ceiling. She had just counted one hundred and fifty seven when a throat cleared.

"Well, Miss Granger, it seems that your story holds enough validity," Dumbledore said cheerfully, straightening the papers and placing them back into the envelope.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "What exactly did they say? I haven't actually looked through them, I only brought them here."

"That," Dumbledore replied, smiling somewhat guardedly, "is a matter between myself and myself in the future."

Hermione's curiosity was not sated, and she felt completely dissatisfied, but she nodded anyway. She had much respect for Dumbledore, even if he did not know it yet.

"You have a task," Dumbledore said, and when Hermione gave a sign of acquiescence, he continued. "My future self informed me that a student of mine, has made a Horcrux or will make a Horcrux within the next year or so, and that you are to find out what it is and notify him, or rather me, of what it is." He grimaced. "Poor Tom's soul has already been mutilated beyond repair. Fancy making multiple Horcruxes, and being under seventeen to boot!"

"I don't think it's something to sound excited about, sir," Hermione admonished, and then went slightly red when she realised she was reprimanding a man that was over a hundred years older than her. He didn't seem to be offended, but his expression quieted at her words.

"Yes," he said softly, "yes, you are right. But it amazes me. So young, so powerful. Brilliant, but terrible magic. He has so much potential, yet he uses it for the wrong reasons. If only he knew the power of _love_." He was looking at her in a way that made her squirm, so she changed the subject quickly.

"I was told that I was to enroll as a Seventh Year student here, Professor?" Although it was completely inappropriate, she felt excited at the idea of returning to school and finishing her incomplete education. She hadn't been to Hogwarts for a long time, and she had missed it terribly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "You will need to be sorted. The school term begins tomorrow, so that will be no problem. The real difficulty is coming up with a plausible story for you that Headmaster Dippet will believe, and before he comes back. Although Armando isn't the brightest fellow there is, he is not easily deceived. There is also the matter of meeting your saviour."

"My saviour?" She did not remember a saviour, but then again, she had not been awake for long. As far as she knew, she had collapsed immediately upon landing in this time. She wondered who it might be. Hazy memories were called to mind, and she briefly recalled a girl who had been watching her with Dumbledore and another man who she now had deduced was Headmaster Dippet. That girl must be her saviour then. She had stood out, because of her impossibly bright eyes… The rest of the details were fuzzy, and when she tried to remember them it made her head hurt, so she closed her eyes and just waited for Dumbledore to speak again.

"Yes, your saviour. You are lucky you were found by dear Eileen. She knew the exact potions to right you." His eyes twinkled, and he stood up. "She will no doubt stop by to see how you are, as will Armando. If you'll excuse me, I will head up to Armando's office now to explain your story to him."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, sir."

"I will return to explain your story." Dumbledore gave her a polite nod, and then strode out the Hospital Wing doors, leaving her with time to think.

Eileen? Why did the name sound so familiar to her? She rummaged through her memories for anything that could bring up a memory, and although nothing clear came up, she thought that her sixth year might have something to do with it. The professor had mentioned potions, which also caused her mind to be slightly unsettled, although she didn't know why. Eileen… With a shrug, she reasoned that she'd find out soon enough, if Dumbledore's claims were true and the girl would be coming by.

Reaching for the glass of water on her bedside table, she took a huge gulp to relieve her suddenly parched throat, before succumbing to the sleep her drooping eyes were tempting her to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.**

_Wow. Ok. Well. This is a longer chapter. I've been typing furiously to get this done. Consider it a peace-offering because of the last chapter. :D_

_~ Mae_

**Chapter 4**

Dumbledore didn't return until what she supposed was dinnertime the day she had woken up. Her guess was based on the number of hours she thought had gone past with her staring at the Hospital Wing ceiling, however, so she didn't particularly think it accurate.

The Transfiguration professor had been mistaken, it seemed. Eileen had never come, and Hermione found herself disappointed at that. Her curiosity had been burning in her since the professor had left; who was Eileen? Why had she stirred a memory in her? And, aside from all that, Hermione meant to honestly thank this Eileen girl for saving her.

Now that she had the time to think, her mind was bombarded with worries about being back in time. She wasn't prepared for this at all. She didn't think she'd be able to cope with seeing a young Voldemort, and she knew he wouldn't be the only familiar face. What would she do if she were to meet a Weasley? Or for that matter, what if she met Draco's grandfather?

That thought caused something to stab deep into her heart, and tears to well up in her eyes. Instead of brushing them away, however, she let them flow. It wouldn't do to appear weak in a time period where Voldemort was more dangerous than ever. In the future, everyone knew who he was, but here, no one did. At least, no one who would be able to befriend and protect her. The best enemy is the one in plain sight, she knew. She had heard the stories from Harry – the stories about how charming, how handsome, how _wonderful_ the great Tom Riddle was – and knew no one would suspect that boy of turning into the monster she knew him to be.

So she let herself cry, and surprisingly, she was only weeping for a couple of hours. She thought that once she let the floodgates open, there would be no stopping it for days, but she was wrong. Despite the fact that Draco had only died yesterday – or 54 years into the future, whichever way you took it – she was still numb from it all, and it didn't hurt her as much as she thought it would. She knew that the real pain would hit her when she least expected it.

After the crying, the rest of the time had been spent wondering what the curriculum in the past was and how she could _ever_ fit in. What if this curriculum was harder? Or worse, what if it was too easy? What if all the males here were the chauvinists she knew to exist in the 40s? What if she was expected to only do lady-like subjects, such as Charms and Transfiguration? What if her demeanour was so different from the propriety of the 40s that she was outed before she had even started? And the most worrisome thought of all: how the _hell_ was she supposed to befriend a teenaged Voldemort?

She avoided thoughts about her past at all costs.

The sound of footsteps startled her, and she turned her head to see Albus Dumbledore walking into the Hospital Wing with a spring in his step. It saddened her, because in the future, there was no jovial Dumbledore. Despite his crazy jokes and eccentric personality, she saw through it, and knew it was all a big farce. She saw the tired, old man burdened with the responsibility of the entire Wizarding community of Britain. She watched him longingly, wishing she had lived in a time where such carelessness was welcome, and would not result in an often fatal mistake.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore nodded cheerfully to her, eyes twinkling. "How have you been?"

"Fine, sir," Hermione replied, trying for his sake to muster up a smile. Judging by the slight falter of his beaming face, however, she knew it wasn't quite satisfactory.

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore searched her face, trying to find what was wrong. "You do not look very well. You have not contracted an illness, have you?"

Hermione's heart warmed at the genuine fondness she felt from him. It would be just like him to become caring of someone he had known loss than a day. "No, sir," she said softly, a genuine grin making it's way onto her face now, "I sincerely doubt I have, since the few hours ago you last saw me." 

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, onto business now, Miss Granger. I have already been to talk to Armando, and needless to say, he now believes you are a young witch from a Pureblood family trying to escape Grindelwald's clutches in Germany." Hermione gaped, not noticing the minor dim in Dumbledore's eyes at Grindelwald's mention.

"What?" she spluttered, all warmth from her heart gone. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think I heard you right. Did you say I'm from a _Pureblood family_?"

"That is your cover story, yes."

"But- but-" Hermione couldn't organise her suddenly chaotic thoughts into sentences.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, it is for your own safety. It will also, I think, help you complete your task."

"You can't _do_ that!" Hermione shouted angrily, forgetting herself. "How can you- don't you know I've spent my life- I'm a proud Muggleborn!" she finally managed to get out furiously.

"I know." Dumbledore's voice was now soothing, as if speaking to a small child, but Hermione didn't back down. "However, it is for your own good. If certain parties in the school knew your true heritage, they would not hesitate in trying to injure you."

"But I've spent my life fighting against prejudiced Purebloods! I'm not about to suddenly act the part of one, and you can't make me!"

There was no response, and Hermione, who had been yelling at the wall across from her since she thought it too disrespectful to yell in Dumbledore's face, scowled and turned her head slightly to see Dumbledore looking amused.

"Calm down, Hermione," Dumbledore said, and at the use of her first name, Hermione unexpectedly deflated. She felt the anger leave her, but the irritation was still deep in her stomach, and she glared at the professor. "You will not have to act prejudiced. As a matter of fact, the family I have put you in is known for their tolerance of Muggleborns-" her glare intensified at the word 'tolerance' – "and, while it will still turn particular people against you, it will no doubt help you in the long run. Also, it adds credence to your story, for Grindelwald is known for targeting families that support Muggleborns."

Hermione's irritation seemed to leave her for a moment, to be replaced with interest. "Grindelwald is still in the open?" From what she knew, Grindelwald had been defeated by none other than the man in front of her, but she couldn't remember when. It was times like these – and many other times – when she felt frustration towards Professor Binns, who had never taught them anything about anything other than goblin rebellions.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, but did not elaborate.

Now that she knew that Grindelwald was still on the loose (she remembered Dumbledore mentioning him when he first explained her story, but she had been too overcome with anger to notice), she understood why putting her in a Pureblood family was the wisest choice. It still irked her, but she accepted it. "What family am I a part of now, then, sir?"

Instead of answering her, Dumbledore conjured a file out of thin air and handed it to her. She looked at him curiously, and he motioned for her to open it. She gingerly opened the file, gasped, and then dropped it into her lap abruptly.

"What- what-" Her face was suddenly stricken, and her hands trembled. Her eyes darted around, landing on anywhere but the open file, but soon her vision became blurry anyway, and it didn't matter.

"I'm sorry, dear," she heard Dumbledore say, and he took a hand of hers in his in grandfatherly affection. "Would you like to talk about it?"

She shook her head, but the action made her dizzy. She knew it…the pain would hit her hardest when she least expected it. Thank Merlin it was in private, with the only man who would not use where she was really from against her.

Her weeping was the only sound in the empty Hospital Wing for a few minutes. Hermione felt like her heart was being wrenched out of her chest, and squeezed harshly, and it was all she could do not to collapse completely.

After she was done, Dumbledore offered her a silken handkerchief, and she took it gratefully and cleaned herself up. She spent another few minutes staring straight ahead, trying to muster up the courage to read the file.

Through this all, Dumbledore waited patiently. He knew what it was like to have loved, and then lost, and when he felt her hand no longer trembled in his, he offered her the file again. She took it steadily, and stared at the picture in the right hand corner of the first piece of parchment.

Her dead husband's face stared stoically out at her, and she felt a surge of love. The same short blonde hair, the same pointed chin, the same stormy grey eyes… But when her eyes darted to the name beside it, her heart sunk awfully, for where it should say 'Draco Malfoy', it instead read 'Abraxas Malfoy'.

"You…you're putting me in with the Malfoys." Even to her, her voice sounded dreadfully flat and dead.

Dumbledore nodded.

She had wanted to have the Malfoy last name since she had met Draco and gotten to know the real boy underneath the bully, but never like this. Not when he wasn't with her, not when he wasn't even thought of. It seemed Fate was playing cruelly with her.

"You can't put me with another family?"

"No," Dumbledore replied, and there was real sorrow in his voice. "I'm sorry, but this is the family that will aid you the most. The Malfoy name alone will protect you, I am certain. I have already arranged your legal papers."

"The Malfoys…you said they tolerated Muggleborns?" The very idea was incredulous to her, because despite having married Draco, she knew that the rest of the family was about as tolerant of Muggleborns as Ron was to spiders. That is, they felt that they'd be better off squished under their boots.

"I take it they are not as understanding in the future?" Dumbledore asked mildly, and she snorted. That was all the answer he needed. "Regardless of what they are like in the future, here they are supporters of Muggleborns, which I hope appeases your fears."

Hermione said nothing, and he continued.

"You will play the part of Abraxas' cousin. His father, Hyperion, has a brother, Pallas, who has no child. However, I am certain that he will not be averse to acting as your father. He is a friend of mine, and owes me a favour or two."

"How will you explain the fact that Abraxas didn't know he had a cousin until now?"

"Pallas and his wife Clarissa have been in hiding in Germany since Grindelwald began attacking Muggleborn supporters. Naturally, he has not been in contact with Hyperion, and therefore Abraxas, for a very long time."

"And how will you explain how I got out of Germany without being killed?"

"That is up to you, my dear."

Hermione fell quiet. Her mind was thinking of any loophole she could find, so that she could force Dumbledore into putting her in with another family. "I do not look at all like the Malfoys," she finally stated, and even to her, it sounded pathetic. However, it was the only thing she could think of.

Dumbledore took out his wand, and she flinched, feeling helpless. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew Dumbledore wouldn't hurt her, but she was instantly in survival mode, and she had had too many wands pointed at her in her lifetime. She didn't know where her wand was, and she felt stupid for not realising it before.

Dumbledore saw her flinch, and sadness clouded his eyes. Nevertheless, he pointed his wand at her. "Don't worry, Hermione, I'm only going to be casting long-lasting Glamours on you."

Hermione's anxious look didn't drop. "Where's my wand?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly high-pitched. "_Where is it?_"

"Shh." Dumbledore sent her a worried look, and produced her wand out of the inside pocket of his robe. He handed it to her, and Hermione practically snatched it out of his hand. She felt blissful as her magic seeped through her at the familiar wood, and she nuzzled it lovingly in her cheek.

"Thank you sir," she whispered, feeling mortified at her display of survival instinct. "I- I don't know what came over me."

Dumbledore gave her an understanding look. "Will you allow me to cast the Glamours on you?"

She nodded timidly, her wand still held tight in her hand. Dumbledore muttered an incantation, and waved his wand over her. She felt a tingling sensation that quickly stopped. Dumbledore wordlessly conjured a mirror for her, and she cautiously peered into it.

She still looked like herself, and she felt relief wash over her. The only thing that changed was that her hair was now platinum blonde, and her eyes were the same shade as Abraxas' – or Draco's. Her hair was still a big bushy mess (even more so since she hadn't brushed it at all since she had woken up) and her eyes were still large and almond shaped. The rest of her – her peach and cream complexion, the freckles along her nose – were still the same. Despite the sadness she felt whenever she thought of her husband, she couldn't help but giggle. If only he could see her now.

"Thank you, Professor," she said sincerely, and he smiled, nodded and stood.

"Have your rest now, Miss Granger. If you are hungry, there is an assortment of food at your disposal." He nodded at the bedside table, and Hermione now noticed the food waiting there under a heating charm. "The students come tomorrow. I will leave you to your thoughts now."

He departed, and Hermione was left to sink into her thoughts.

She was a Malfoy now, but she didn't feel any joy at that. After all, it wasn't because she had married Draco. She had been referring to him as her husband, and that was what he was in her mind. However, technically they hadn't finished the ceremony, and so she never had his name legally. Instead, she now had his name as a supposed witch on the run.

She couldn't wrap her mind around the concept that the Malfoys were not 'Mudblood haters'. She had grown up at Hogwarts knowing that the family hated her type to the point where they'd kill them to be rid of them. Was this Voldemort's doing? Had he corrupted the Malfoys? Now that she thought of it, it was entirely possible.

Rage flew through her. If it wasn't for Voldemort, she might have found Draco long before desperation had pushed them together. That desperation wouldn't even exist. There would have been no war. He wouldn't have hated Muggleborns, and they might have been together. Her hand clenched. If it wasn't for Voldemort, Draco wouldn't have died and she wouldn't be here.

Voldemort was the root of all her worries, from the age of 11. The blood prejudice, her best friends Harry and Ron always putting themselves in danger, the possible extermination of all Muggleborns… it all stemmed from him.

These dangerous thoughts were making her tremble again, this time from anger. It was only when she heard her water glass explode that she was pulled from her thoughts. Feeling ashamed for letting herself get carried away, she calmed down, cleaned up the mess, and decided to eat a bit.

As she ate, and just before she went to sleep, a thought kept repeating in her head.

_I will perform this mission correctly, and Voldemort will die._

_~ Convertimini Tempus ~_

The chirping birds awoke Hermione, and she giggled at this rather cliché way to be woken. She groped for her wand, which was stuffed under her pillow, and with a quick 'Aguamenti', her glass was filled with water, which she drank to sooth her parched throat. As she drank, she breathed in the delicious aroma of breakfast and grabbed the tray on her bedside table.

The first bite of fluffy eggs made her feel uneasy, and the second made her want to vomit. She quickly pushed the plate away, wondering what was happening to her. Her stomach was churning, and she soon realised it was nervousness. She was going to meet the other students today, as well as her teachers and the Headmaster. How was she going to survive this?

And worst of all, what if someone became suspicious of her?

She had no idea of knowing how observant the people of this time were. In her time, because of the constant attacks and not being able to determine who you could trust, everyone had been jumpy, and something as fishy as a transfer student would arouse suspicion immediately. Here, they had no big threats aside from Grindelwald, but he was still in Germany and it didn't look like he was coming to Britain anytime soon. Therefore, the people wouldn't be too worried about her sudden appearance (at least, that's what she hoped), but she would never know until she faced them.

Getting out of the bed, she realised she was wearing a plain hospital gown. It was quite thick actually, made from a heavy grey material, and reached her ankles. She frowned at it, took it off (being sure to use privacy wards) and using her wand, transfigured it into something more decent for walking around the castle, which she planned to do to pass the time. In her lap was a simple grey cotton dress, the same as Draco's eyes, with thin straps and a modest length of just above the knee. With a jolt, she realised that it was now the same colour as her eyes as well.

She felt her eyes going a bit moist, so she quickly put it on before she could stare any longer at it. She conjured a brush and ran it through the knots and tangles of her bushy hair, before her hand froze, still buried inside the nest on top of her head. A thought had occurred to her. Now that she was impersonating a non-existent Malfoy, she had to look the part, otherwise it wouldn't be half believable. She guessed that though they supported Muggleborns, they were still one of the richest families around, and had the demeanour and appearance to show it.

With a sigh, she took her wand out again and, with regret in her eyes, tapped it to her temple. There was a slightly painful tug of her hair, and then it stopped. Conjuring a mirror, she looked at herself within it and saw that her usually untamable hair was now cascading down her shoulders in beautiful curls. Despite the fact that she actually looked quite pretty now, she glared at her reflection. In her younger adolescent years, she had despised the fact that her hair would not stay down and forbade brushes from successfully calming it, but over time she had grown fond of it. It was one of the things that defined her, and one of her trademarks. Other witches thought it silly, but she wasn't too worried about her appearance anyway, always being more concerned about grades and keeping Harry alive.

Also conjuring a black cardigan to go over her grey dress and some pretty black shoes that she was admittedly fond of, she decided she didn't look too bad. She actually looked like a Pureblood bimbo now. Or, because that last thought was a bit too harsh, she looked like a witch who actually cared about her appearance.

She grinned in spite of herself, and hopped out of the bed.

"Up and about, I see," a familiar voice came from behind her, and her smile widened.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," she responded, turning around. Dumbledore was standing on the other side of her bed wearing a bright orange robe covered in blue stars, and although her eyes hurt when she looked at him, she was glad he hadn't at least lost his hilarious sense of fashion over the years. "I didn't hear you come in."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I can be very quiet when I want to. What do you plan to do today? The other children will not be here until the Welcoming Feast."

"I'm going to explore the castle, sir," Hermione replied truthfully. "I want to get re-acquainted with it. I haven't been here in a year, and there are bound to be changes anyway, seeing as I'm 54 years into the past." 

Dumbledore didn't ask why she hadn't been there when she was obviously still in the Hogwarts age-group. She guessed it was in the documents she had given him, and shrugged. "What about yourself, sir?"

"Just going over the term's Transfiguration curriculum," Dumbledore said, feigning great boredom. "My days are not quite as exciting as they used to be. I hope you have fun, however."

Hermione beamed at him. "Yes, sir."

_~ Convertimini Tempus ~_

The first place Hermione headed to was, predictably, the Library. It was open, and as she walked in, she took in the familiar and comforting smell of old parchment and books.

"Still the same," she murmured, her eyes closed. A goofy smile was now on her face, and she began perusing the books in shelves closest to her, wanting to remember the layout of the library in case it was different to the future's.

It was the same, but there was still more fun to be had – going over the books to see which ones had not been there when she had gone through these same rows of shelves. There were multiple books that she had never been able to find because they were so outdated, and to her great delight, she found them easily. Both were old Potions texts recommended to her by Severus, and she had been disappointed before when she couldn't find them. At least one good thing had come out of her trip to the past.

She spent the next few hours reading these texts in a quiet corner of the library. It was her favourite place to read, because it was almost always deserted and was situated in the small Muggle section. No one cared enough about Muggles, books about Muggles or Muggle fiction to actually look for them, and although that upset her a bit when she found out, she was now grateful, because it had given her a place among books of her own kind that would not be disturbed.

When she had finished the first text and was halfway through the second text, she began feeling uncomfortable in her hunched position and decided that she would come back to read them later. Unfortunately, the librarian of the time was nowhere to be found, so she couldn't check them out. Instead, she left the books in her corner (she hated books not being in the right place, but she didn't want anyone to take them before she could finish reading the second one) and strode out. It was two corridors away from the library that she found Eileen.

At least, she thought it was Eileen. The girl was about her age, with long black hair and a lithe body. From the side, she couldn't really tell, but she thought she was pretty. She was staring at a portrait, and Hermione approached her with a friendly smile.

"Hello," she said when she had reached the other girl, "are you Eileen?"

The girl turned to her, and slowly raised an eyebrow, appraising her. From the expression alone, she knew who this was. She had seen it on his face so many times when they had been brewing together… Severus Snape. This was Eileen Prince, his mother. She saw the girl's bright, blue eyes and wondered why Severus hadn't inherited them. They were beautiful.

"You looked different the last time I saw you," she said bluntly, eyes narrowing, and Hermione's stomach sunk. So there were observant ones…she hoped they weren't all like this. Her mind raced for a solution, and she couldn't stop the look of relief that came over her when she found one.

"Those were Glamours. I'm running from Grindelwald in Germany, and so I had to disguise myself. I'm a-"

"I know your story already," Eileen said sharply. "Dumbledore told me. You don't need to tell me again." Hermione's mouth, which had been open to hurriedly explain her cover story, snapped shut with an audible crack. She glared.

"No need to be rude about it," she hissed. "I was about to thank you for saving me, but now I see you aren't worth thanking." She turned and stomped about three steps away before Eileen's voice cut through her thoughts.

"You're awfully quick to judge." It was said softly, but Hermione heard it, and she stopped. "You're welcome, by the way."

Guilt coursed through her. This girl had saved her, and she was being immature. Part of her tried to reason that the girl had interrupted her quite rudely, but…it was Severus' mother. He had to get it somewhere, right?

She turned around, and gave Eileen a small smile. "Sorry."

"That's okay." Eileen didn't spare her another glance. She turned and began striding away from Hermione.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called after her, confused.

"Dorm," was all the other girl said, not even looking over her shoulder. Hermione didn't try to stop her from leaving, but went the other way.

That wasn't at all like she had expected their encounter to be. She had imagined a friendly girl who might jump on the chance to make friends with a new student, not Snape's mother.

Sighing, she absentmindedly walked up a fleet of stairs and found herself in front of Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry. Her encounter forgotten, a grin made its way onto her face and she turned to the opposite wall. She walked past it three times, and opened the door that stood there.

Inside was a bathroom that rivaled the Prefect's bathroom. A nice, long, hot bath was exactly what she needed right now. It would calm her before she faced the masses. And even better, there were some books in a small shelf that were charmed to be waterproof. Perfect.

_~ Convertimini Tempus ~_

She sat inside the Headmaster's office, looking nervous. Her hands kept creating moisture, and she frantically wiped them off on her black robes, devoid of a House crest. The man seated in front of her watched her carefully, before breaking into a smile.

"No need to be nervous, dear," he said, reaching over and patting her hand. "It's quite alright. The students here are lovely. You'll find yourself settling in no time."

Hermione swallowed thickly. She felt a bit nauseous, and wondered if Headmaster Dippet also thought it was very stuffy in there. "I…why am I here, sir, if I might enquire?"

"Ah." Armando Dippet nodded importantly, and coupled with his clueless face, it would have looked quite amusing if Hermione didn't feel like retching at the moment. "I am here to explain about tonight." He paused. "Are you well, dear? You look a little green."

"Fine," Hermione managed to choke out, before closing her mouth again hurriedly.

"Hm. Well. You'll be Sorted at the Welcoming Feast tonight-" Hermione paled even further, "- but don't worry," he said, incorrectly reading her expression, "I'm sure you'll be Sorted in no time."

All Hermione could think as the wizard blabbered on and on was what she would do when she finally saw Tom Riddle. Would she feel the need to hex his arse off as soon as she saw him? Would she need to physically control herself? Or worse, would she run and hide?

It was a few minutes later when she realised the Headmaster had stopped talking and was staring at her expectantly. She blushed under his stern gaze. "Sorry," she mumbled, "I just had a rather disconcerting thought."

"That's quite alright, Miss Malfoy," Dippet said sympathetically, and Hermione had to restrain herself from looking around to see who he was referring to when he said 'Miss Malfoy'. The only thing that stopped her was the tendril of blonde hair flying in her face that reminded her of who she was impersonating.

The Headmaster looked at his wristwatch, and his eyes bulged comically. "Is that the time? My dear, we'd best be going, before we are late to the feast!" He stood up quickly, and brushed past her. Even standing, he was only a few inches taller than the seated Hermione. "Come on, girl!" He waved his hands around erratically.

Hermione stood up, slightly entertained by the frantic man's behaviour, and followed him down the staircase from the Headmaster's office. They moved briskly from the two gargoyles that guarded the entrance, and in five minutes were standing in front of the Great Hall, where chatter could be heard. Professor Dumbledore was waiting outside for them, and with a quick nod and glance at Armando, he took Hermione from his care. The Headmaster entered the Great Hall, effectively ending the silence.

Hermione moved to follow him, but was stopped by Dumbledore.

"He is going to announce you," he said quietly, and Hermione felt slightly woozy. "Don't worry," he said, catching the look on her face. "The First Years will be going before you. When you go up, do not look around. You might see something you are unprepared for." Hermione nodded, thankful for the advice.

They waited at the entrance of the Great Hall, and soon, a crowd of 11 year olds came into sight, following a short, plump woman with a friendly face. She grinned at Dumbledore and looked at her curiously, before ordering the First Years into a single line.

"Isn't that the duty of the deputy Headmaster?" Hermione asked, watching the students line up. They looked at her with apprehension all over their faces, and she gave them an encouraging smile.

"Wherever did you hear that, Miss Malfoy?" Dumbledore replied, also watching the children. Hermione shrugged.

"That was how it went in the fu- at my old school."

Dumbledore sent her a side glance at her slip up, but nodded. "We usually send whichever teacher volunteers." His lips curled at the corners. "Otherwise, we draw straws."

Hermione burst out laughing at that, an image of her future professors (Snape and McGonagall) drawing straws brought forth in her mind. She didn't notice Dumbledore's amused glance as she watched the First Years begin entering the Hall.

After Hermione had calmed herself down, silence descended upon them again, each lost in their own thoughts. It was interrupted when Dumbledore began walking. "The Headmaster has announced your arrival, Hermione."

Hermione's tenseness was brought back full force. _Don't look at anyone_, she reminded herself. _Eyes straight ahead. Go straight to the stool, sit down, get Sorted then sit at your table. Don't look at anyone_. Taking a deep breath, she patted her hair down, smoothed her skirt, wiped her hands on the ends of her robes and, with her head held high, stepped into the Hall after the Transfiguration professor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.**

_I've updated a bit recently. Not too much – only 3 chapters – but I'm hoping it'll keep you guys satisfied for when the writer's block hits again, which I know it will soon. Enjoy! Review if you liked it. 3_

_~ Mae_

**Chapter 5**

Eyes. All she could see were eyes staring at her. She was so very tempted to seek out the ones she knew would be glowing red in 50 years time but, remembering Dumbledore's words, she kept her eyes trained firmly before her.

Dumbledore was moving at a faster rate than her (she feared she might trip), and she was only halfway down the House tables when he was taking his seat beside the Headmaster at the Head table. The woman who had been ushering the First Years in twenty minutes before was standing at the stool with the Sorting Hat clutched firmly in her grasp. Hermione noted with relief that the stool had been magically heightened, so she wouldn't be practically squatting on it like an idiot.

"Miss Malfoy, up you come. Hurry along, dear," she heard Dippet call out, and her face flushed. Summoning all the courage she had and trying to live up to her House's reputation, she fastened her pace and before she knew it, was standing at the front of the Hall, facing the stool. She could feel three hundred gazes boring into her, and the heat crept up her neck to settle on her cheeks, re-enforcing the blush from before.

"Sit down, dear," the professor with the Sorting Hat said kindly. "It won't hurt."

Hermione gave a jerky nod and turned swiftly, before plopping herself down onto the stool. She closed her eyes as she felt the Hat being placed on her head.

_Granger._

Her eyes flew open when she heard that, knowing that the Sorting Hat was talking to her, but wondering if anyone else had heard it. Judging by their judicial expressions, they hadn't.

_Yes?_ Her inner-voice sounded timid, and she winced.

_I've Sorted you before, I see._

_How do you know that? _For a brief moment, the inner intellectual made an appearance. She had always been fascinated by the Sorting Hat, but had never studied it because she was never allowed to go near it after First Year, when she had been too awed by the castle to pay attention to a tatty hat.

There was a pause._ You will address me as Mr. Sorting Hat. _That unforeseen comment caused Hermione to break out in giggles, for it was one of the few funny things she had heard since arriving back in time, and she spent a few minutes trying for air before she remembered where she was and promptly blanked her face again. Luckily for her, she wasn't the type to start rolling on the floor in hysterics, but more than half the students were watching her with confusion anyway.

_Go on, Mr. Sorting Hat._

_I can see your memories, girl. They are…fascinating, to say the least. You have a mission._

_Yes, Mr. Sorting Hat._

_I must decide where to put you. Gryffindor before, eh? A brave one, but you have an insatiable thirst for knowledge…Ravenclaw quality. _

Hermione closed her eyes again and cleared her mind, glee forgotten. She didn't particularly have any House in mind that she wanted to be put in, because all of them had some kind of benefit. However, this was an important moment. Wherever she was put would greatly influence how she would execute her plan. There was one House, however, that she knew she had the highest chance of being placed in, solely for this task.

The Hat was silent for a few minutes, and she wondered what was taking it so long.

_Patience, girl. Your mission. You desire to destroy one of the students here… you are a time-traveller. Very interesting. I suppose the most beneficial House to put you in for this task will be SLYTHERIN!_

The last word was shouted, and although Hermione had been expecting it, it didn't dull the pained expression that made its way onto her face. Slytherin. Yuck.

She had expected the Hat to take longer to Sort her, but shrugged it off and stood up. The woman who had held the Hat now took it back, and gestured for Hermione to move to a table where all the students wore green and silver ties and watched her calculatingly. Hermione replied with a wry grin, and lifting her chin, stepped off the dais and walked to the Slytherin table.

The first person she saw was Eileen Prince, staring at her with an unreadable expression. Hermione hesitated, before moving towards her. Coincidentally, the other girl had a spare seat beside her, and Hermione decided that she'd rather sit there than with the First Years, who sat nearest to the Head table.

"Hi," she said softly, taking her seat. She stared at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. "How are you?"

"Fine." Eileen's voice was clipped as she scrutinised Hermione. "You're a Malfoy?"

She looked up, surprised. "You didn't know? I thought you said Dumbledore had already told you about me?"

"He didn't mention your last name."

Before Hermione could reply, Dippet rose from his seat in the centre of the High table to give his yearly welcoming speech to the students.

Hermione found him immensely boring. He droned on about the most mundane things, and it wasn't until fifteen minutes later that he finally took a breath and let them eat. At least Dumbledore had made an effort to keep it interesting.

Hermione was reaching for the steak and kidney pie when she felt a firm tap on her shoulder. Her reflexes kicked in, and spinning around very gracefully for a person who had been sitting, her wand was in her hand and was being pushed into the neck of the person behind her. Her eyes widened when she found herself staring into dark grey eyes that held slight apprehension and copious amounts of amusement.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked, stowing her wand back into her robe hurriedly. She blushed fiercely. That was the second time she had had an unwarranted reaction to something. It made her realise how paranoid and jumpy the people of her time were. With good reason, but now, in a more relaxed environment, it seemed very strange and even scary to her.

"Woah, hold up there, cousin," Abraxas Malfoy exclaimed, grinning and leaning back with his hands in the air in surrender. "I'm not attacking you."

"I know," Hermione muttered. She looked up at him. He was the spitting image of Draco at first sight, but now that she had actually seen him in person, she noticed his face was slightly longer and he was more broad-shouldered than her husband. His hair was also longer than it had been in the file's photograph. Hermione stowed this information away, hoping it would help her differentiate between her husband and his grandfather. "I'm sorry."

Hermione stood awkwardly at the table, not meeting his eyes. He seemed to be thinking for a moment, before he stuck out his hand.

"Abraxas Malfoy," he said graciously. "And you're my cousin Hermione?"

"Yes, I am." Hermione took his hand and was all set for shaking it when he turned her hand over and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it. She went red again. "How did you know?" she asked, quickly taking her hand back as politely as she could.

"Dumbledore took me aside," Abraxas explained. He suddenly looked down and saw Eileen sitting there, staring at her dinner. He sneered, but didn't say anything to her, opting to ignore her completely. "Would you like to sit by my friends and I? It'll save you the unpleasant company and conversation."

So some things hadn't changed. The Malfoys were still arrogant and thought themselves superior, and instead of being offended, she found herself finding comfort in that. Nevertheless, she didn't want to be rude to Eileen. After all, she was good friends – or acquaintances, as Severus had hastened to remind her whenever the subject of 'friendship' had come up - with her son in the future.

"I'm sorry, Abraxas, but-"

"Nonsense!" Abraxas grabbed her wrist and began pulling her along with him. "You're my cousin, and I've never even met you! We need to catch up, we're family!"

Hermione sent a helpless look in Eileen's direction, but the girl wasn't looking at her. Instead, she was glaring at her goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Eileen, I'm sorry-"

"Go with your cousin," Eileen hissed. "I don't want to be seen talking to disgusting Malfoys anyway. One is already enough."

Hermione pulled back, looking hurt. She let Abraxas lead her away from Eileen, Abraxas muttering under his breath about 'bad breeding' and 'awful company'. "You don't want to mix with her, Hermione," Abraxas stated. "She's a bad sort."

They reached the end of the table where several Seventh Year Slytherins were talking as they ate. Hermione was surprised to see that most of them were laughing and joking around, so different from the Slytherins of her time. A couple of girls were flirting shamelessly with the boys who sat across from them, while two immature boys were throwing peas at each other. It amazed Hermione how similar it was to the Gryffindor table, before the war.

"Children, settle down," Abraxas said sarcastically, grinning at his Housemates. "We've got a new one. Meet my lovely cousin, Hermione."

"Oi! You never told us you had a cousin, Malfoy!" a boy with black, wavy hair and grey eyes exclaimed. "And a damn good looking one, too!"

Hermione didn't even bother blushing. He wasn't even complimenting her true appearance anyway. She was too intent on staring at the boy, for he looked exactly like a younger version of Sirius Black. She had known that there was a strong possibility that she'd meet the relatives of people long gone, but every time she did meet them, it struck her with how similar the people looked, and her heart ached. Even so, she pasted a bright smile on her face.

"They're so loud and happy," she murmured to Abraxas, who sent her a surprised side glance.

"Not used to it?"

"No…" Hermione didn't say anymore; she knew Abraxas would draw his own conclusions. "So, are you going to introduce me to everyone, or what?"

Abraxas did indeed introduce her to all the Seventh Year Slytherins.

Alphard Black was apparently the handsome ladies' man, and was the one who had called out before. Hermione remembered Harry telling her that he had been Sirius' uncle, and had been the only one to leave Sirius gold when he had died. He made a few more flirtatious remarks, but was silenced by Abraxas' mock warning glare. It warmed her to have another person looking out for her.

Asterope Black and Denebola Black were twin girls and Alphard's cousins. Both were very pretty, as was typical of the Black family, with sharp, aristocratic features. While Asterope had pitch-black hair that was straight as a pin, Denebola's hair was chestnut and curly. Hermione found out shortly that they had personalities similar to that of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

Araminta Meliflua was the last of the Slytherin Seventh Year girls aside from Eileen. She had black hair held back in a classic chignon and an expression that reeked 'haughty Pureblood'. Her green eyes pierced Hermione with a cold stare, and she was glad to be turned away from the unsettling girl.

Cephas Avery, Lycaon Lestrange, Elias Rosier and Godric Nott played the part of the pranksters in the group. They reminded her of what she thought the Marauders had been like. Hermione found it strange that the future Death Eaters were so careless and happy, and nothing at all like their relatives; nothing at all like she expected future cold-blooded killers to be. When she had commented on Godric's name, he had grimaced while the others jeered. "My father was a Gryffindor," he scowled in explanation, but then had joined in the laughing anyway. Apparently, it wasn't a joke that got old.

The last of the group caused Hermione to almost choke on air. Although it was illogical and made no sense, she had hoped he wouldn't be here. No such luck. "And finally," Abraxas said, sounding almost proud, "our very own Head Boy, and the biggest joker of the lot, Tom Riddle."

**Author's Note:**

Well, I had a hard time finding enough of Tom's little gang to make up a whole Slytherin Seventh Year. I tried to keep the patterns in the family names as best I could, but I'm not sure they're too creditable.

There were no Averys with first names, so I just turned to the good ol' Latin names the Pureblood families are so fond of using. Cephas means 'rock or stone'.

I based the Lestrange family names on Rodolphus, which is a Latin name. Rodolphus means 'famous wolf' or 'wolf counsel'. Lycaon possibly means 'wolf'.

The only known named Rosier is Evan, who was one of the Death Eaters. Evan apparently means 'God is gracious' in Welsh, so following along those religious lines, Elias is the Greek form of the Welsh name Elis, which means 'the Lord is my God'.

As for Nott, well, Theodore Nott's (Hermione's classmate) first name comes from English, meaning 'gift of God'. Godric means 'strong God'. I chose it because of the irony. xD

And because I couldn't find any girls who had the same birthdate as Tom and would be in his year, I threw in a few OCs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.**

_This chapter is dedicated to __Soul of the Dark Mark__, and you'll soon find out why… :c_

**Chapter 6**

"Funny, Abraxas, how my title changes so often," Riddle responded smartly, arching an eyebrow. He snorted. "'Big joker.' That's a big leap from 'arrogant twat'."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Abraxas had apparently called Lord Voldemort an 'arrogant twat' and he hadn't had his head blasted off. This day just got better and better. _Next we'll find out that Voldemort loves pink bunny rabbits and lollipops, and that his favourite bedtime story is Cinderella. Or better yet, that his life's ambition is to become a princess._ Her mouth quirked slightly at the corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Abraxas shift uncomfortably.

"Anyway," Riddle continued lightly, ignoring her look of pure astonishment and Abraxas' discomfort, "it's nice to meet you, Miss Malfoy. I'm afraid I can't say that I've heard a lot about you, but I hope to remedy that soon. Welcome to Slytherin." He gave her a charming smile and offered her his hand.

Hermione didn't take it. Her mind was whirling. Had she landed herself in an alternate universe? Surely Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle, evilest wanker on Earth wasn't this boy in front of her. He was too…mild and…handsome. And it didn't look like he felt the urge to kill everyone in sight. They couldn't be the same person. It defied reality.

"Hermione?" An elbow softly nudged her, and Abraxas' voice, tinged with concern, rode over her inner thoughts. "Are you alright? You blanked out there for a bit."

"What?" Hermione tore her gaze from Riddle, who was observing her strangely, to her 'cousin'. "Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine, Abraxas. Riddle, was it?" She looked at the boy in question and took his hand. Instead of kissing the back of it like the other boys had, he gave her a firm handshake. A sign of equality.

"Yes," he said smoothly. "Are you going to sit?"

Hermione realised that she was still standing, and quickly sat down in the space between Denebola and Godric, the only space not taken on that end of the table. She noticed that both their postures had been tense, but had relaxed when she sat between them.

"So Hermione," Abraxas said, taking his seat across from her. "Dumbledore says that Uncle Pallas is your father. He never mentioned a child the last time he contacted Father." He gazed at her with interest.

"Well," Hermione replied, remembering her 'life story', "when was the last time Father contacted Uncle Hyperion?"

Abraxas frowned. "Years and years ago, Father says. Come to think of it, I remember him saying that they never corresponded after my first birthday. And your first birthday too, if I'm correct in saying that you're the same age as me."

Hermione nodded impassively on the outside, but on the inside, she was jumping for joy. Her story was fitting smoothly into place, and she didn't even know all the details. "Father only contacted him to tell him about my birth, and to warn him to keep it a secret from everyone. He couldn't risk Grindelwald finding out about me, because as you know, the Malfoys are influential everywhere. I would be the perfect bargaining token to get Father onto his side. He and Mother went into hiding right after he contacted Uncle Hyperion."

Abraxas nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. So you've been hiding for the past fifteen and a half years. Why come to Hogwarts? It's so far. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here because it's safer, but why now? Why didn't you and Uncle Pallas and Aunt Clarissa come earlier? You wouldn't have needed to hide; you could have stayed with us."

Hermione stayed silent for a few minutes, before she decided it was time to take out her acting skills. She was spinning herself a web of lies that was so delicate that the slightest prodding could break it, but she had to say something. She mentally cursed Dumbledore for not preparing her more. "The only thing keeping us in Germany was Mother. Her family had been hiding us the entire time, moving us from one of their estates to the other. We always moved very six months. And then, a month ago," she winced and took a deep breath, "she died. Her family didn't want us anymore, because they blamed us for her death. We came here."

She marveled at her ability to lie so flawlessly, so easily. The war had changed her so much. Five years ago, she wouldn't have been able to lie about staying in the library for longer than she was supposed to, let alone that her 'mother' had been killed. Now, she even let her eyes water, the image of Draco's death in her mind. Shame filled her at the insult and use of his memory, but she reasoned that she needed to do this. Just one small shameful deed out of the many she knew she'd be committing in the next few months in her quest to destroy Voldemort.

"I'm sorry," Abraxas said quietly, looking down. The others murmured their condolences, but what caught her attention was the fact that Riddle's eyes, so full of concern, held the smallest bit of what she could only describe as amusement. What was he finding amusing? Did he think Clarissa's 'death' was _funny_? That was more like what she expected of the future Lord Voldemort, but it didn't fit in with the character he was giving off now.

Abraxas backed off from his questioning, which Hermione was grateful for. The rest of conversation at dinner was filled with lighter topics, such as Quidditch and their summer holidays. Hermione didn't join in. She toyed with her dinner, rolling the peas around her plate and viciously stabbing her mash.

She noticed Riddle didn't join in either. _An orphanage probably didn't provide him with much source for entertainment,_ she thought. If it had been anyone else, she would have felt sorry for him. As it was Voldemort, though, she only felt a sort of sadistic glee.

When the topic changed to the first day of term's gossip, she was dragged into the conversation by Asterope. "Riddle's the most eligible boy in the school," she informed her, winking at the boy in question. "All the girls want him, but he won't associate himself with us mere mortals."

"That's not true, Asterope," Riddle replied haughtily, hearing his name and turning from his conversation with Abraxas. "I'd gladly associate with 'mere mortals' if they interested me at all. It might be news to you, but males generally do not find hair-curling and gossiping fascinating." 

Asterope rolled her eyes. "See what I mean?"

"Since Riddle's out of the question," Denebola chimed in, "I'd say Abraxas, but he's your cousin." She wrinkled her nose. "You could always go for-"

"Since when was I out of the question?" Riddle cut in, an eyebrow raised. "Did I _say_ I was out of the question?"

"No, but your response before was clear enough. So anyway, Hermione-"

"I said that I don't find hair-curling and gossiping girls interesting. I never said anything about the girls who _aren't_ obsessed with the perfect crimp or perm." Riddle looked directly at Hermione as he said this, which made her feel slightly ill.

Great Merlin, the Dark Lord was _flirting_ with her.

"Unluckily for you, Riddle, most of the girls here are like that. And the ones who _aren't _are…well, I don't like to think about them."

"I think that's enough gossip for me tonight," Hermione finally said loudly.

"But Hermione, I haven't even told you about the fight Charlus Potter and Stephen Cornwall had over Dorea Black," Denebola whined. "She's almost 10 years older than the both of them!"

"Then by all means," Hermione replied sweetly, "continue telling Riddle and Asterope."

Instead of feeling offended at Hermione's saccharine tone, Denebola just pouted. "Well, fine." She quickly turned to her sister, and began animatedly retelling the account. The other girl looked like she knew all this already, but humoured her twin anyway.

"When does dinner end?" Hermione's head was starting to hurt.

"Right about now, actually," Abraxas replied from across from her, and she turned to see the other students all standing. He held out a hand for her, as a gentleman would.

"I can stand myself, thanks," she said in a curt tone, staring at the hand as if it had grown pus-filled boils. Honestly, didn't the girls here have _any_ sense of independence? Looking around, she didn't think so. Most of the girls around her were being taken by the hand by the boys surrounding them. The only ones who didn't have a man pulling them up were the ones that she saw sitting alone. She sighed. Women's rights still had a _long_ way to go.

Abraxas' eyes filled with bewilderment. "I hope that confusion I see in your eyes isn't directed at my comment," Hermione warned him, only half-joking.

"No, no," Abraxas said hastily. "It's just that…you're rather unconventional for a Malfoy woman."

"_We_-ll… in between being on the run, not having a solid home for the majority of my life and trying not to get shot in the back, there wasn't much time for etiquette lessons," Hermione retorted dryly. "Let's go." They were the last two Seventh Years to leave the table. Abraxas hurried to catch up with the others, and not wanting to be alone, Hermione followed.

"Aren't you supposed to be going…another way?" Hermione asked in surprise when she saw Riddle in the middle of the group, chatting amiably. "You're Head Boy, aren't you?"

"Yes…" He frowned. "So?"

"So you have your own common room to get to."

"I don't have to go there right away." Riddle waved his hand at her in dismissal, and Hermione was left to ponder yet another small change from her own time. "Why does it matter? Do I make you…uncomfortable?" The last word was accompanied by a strange expression, but Hermione couldn't figure out what it was. That was a feat in itself, because with the war, she had learnt how to read people easily from their body language and expressions. It didn't surprise her, though, because Lord Voldemort was the king of poker faces, from what she had heard from Severus.

Hermione didn't answer him, so he shrugged and turned back to the conversation with Araminta she had interrupted.

"So Hermione…" Denebola sidled up to the blonde girl, eyebrows waggling. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

Hermione went pale. "No!" That was a lie and she knew the other girl knew it. However, it wasn't for the reason Denebola was probably thinking, and although it made her feel sick to let the girl think otherwise, at least she didn't know the real reason.

"Such a vehement response from an otherwise indifferent person," Denebola clucked. "I don't blame you. He captured the hearts of every female third year and above a _long_ time ago."

"I don't like him…like that," Hermione croaked, facial expression changing from pale to ill at the idea. _I don't like him at all._

"Whatever you say, Hermione." They were now in the dungeons, and Hermione felt each goose bump rise on her arm, despite the thick, heavy robes she was wearing.

"Merlin, how do you people survive down here? It must be sub-zero degrees!" She observed the cool stone of the walls surrounding them, and felt a bit claustrophobic.

"We're under the lake," Godric answered. "The other Founders must have really hated Salazar to put his students here. We're used to it."

_Yeah, well, there was good reason. He tried to kill the Muggleborns who came here. If that's not reason enough to hate someone, I don't know what is._

"Hey, Riddle, got the password?"

There was a shuffling as the others parted way for Riddle to get through. _Ah, there's the Voldemort I know._ He looked at the stone snake guarding the blank wall, and with a sneer of disdain, muttered, "_Tree bark._"

There was silence, and then… "Tree bark?" Hermione squeaked, her voice echoing in the stillness of the Seventh Years. "Who chose _that_ password?" Her incredulity and mirth threatened to swallow her face whole, so she quickly masked her glee. It probably wouldn't sit well with the others, judging by Riddle's angry face.

"Dumbledore," he spat venomously. "The old coot. Always trying to humiliate us." His eyes flashed red for a second, and Hermione witnessed, with horror, the first glimpse of the true Voldemort in 1944. She took a frightened step back, amusement forgotten, but the others hadn't noticed as they watched Riddle's face apprehensively.

"It's just a password, Riddle," Cephas said worriedly. No one said anything after that, but Hermione watched as Riddle closed his eyes and attempted to calm down. _He must really hate Dumbledore if he gets this worked up over a stupid password_, she thought.

A few seconds later, and Riddle was beaming at them. "What are we all waiting out here for? It's cold!" He pushed the door that had appeared after he had spoken the password open, and strode in arrogantly.

Hermione was shell-shocked. That was the quickest mood change she had _ever_ seen. She quietly followed the others as they sauntered into the Slytherin common room as if nothing had happened. The chatter of the younger years quieted considerably, but did not stop.

The common room was gorgeous. All thoughts about Voldemort, future Death Eaters and mood changes faster than those of pregnant women flew out of her head as she stared in awe at her surroundings. She wasn't one to be impressed easily, but…wow. This common room made Gryffindor's look like the Shrieking Shack of her time.

"Impressed?" Abraxas teased. Hermione had moved to the leather couches in front of the golden fireplace, and was running her hand over the silver lining, smooth and cool against her hand. With a sigh, she sank into the couch and close her eyes.

"You people really like to spoil yourselves, don't you?" Her voice held a blissful lilt as she pushed herself further into the supple leather of the couch.

There was no answer, and she opened her eyes. She immediately wished she hadn't. Towering over her were nine impassive faces, and one face tinged with guilt. Her eyes widened at the sight, and she felt her stomach churn.

"What- what are you doing?" Her voice shook as she gazed up at them, wondering what was happening and why they were look at her like that. Looking around, she realised that the common room had mysteriously cleared out, leaving only the Seventh Years.

"_Incarcerous_," said a voice on the right – Riddle. Ropes were immediately wrapping themselves around her legs, torso and arms, binding her to the couch. Out of reflex, rather than actual comprehension of the circumstances, she started struggling, but the ropes were tight and they only cut deeper into her skin.

"Stop struggling," Abraxas murmured, and shame filled his eyes as he stared down at the girl he believed to be his cousin. "It will only make it hurt more."

"Abraxas?" Her voice was so high it was almost a shriek. She paid no heed to his warning, clawing desperately at the ropes despite the burning pain. Tears began filling her eyes as the situation sunk in. She had barely been with the other students a night and she was going to be tortured – or worse, killed. She was going to fail her mission. Why had she let her guard down around them? They were Slytherins.

The answer came to her instantly, but she tried to push it away in denial. They gave her the sort of uncaring ignorance she hadn't had in years, even if it was fake. She had been able to sit down for one night and not wonder whether she, Draco, Ginny, Ron or Harry were going to die. She didn't have to think about the best way to kill someone, without prolonging the pain. She didn't have to think about the people she had already lost.

They were really master manipulators. At the start of the evening, she had had her wand out at Abraxas' simple touch on her shoulder. Now, she had had been tied up with ropes and she hadn't even thought of getting her wand out, shocked that her newfound 'friends' were tying her up. At least she was finding out sooner rather than later. That thought didn't do much to comfort her at all, however.

"Now," Riddle said, looking at his work with satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He observed the welts that were forming almost clinically, and nodded absentmindedly. "We need some answers, Hermione, and you're going to give them willingly." He didn't say it, but everyone heard the unspoken '_or else'_.

"Why- why do you have me tied up?" Hermione's head had cleared when she had successfully answered each panicked question that came up in her inner dialogue, and she figured she wouldn't die if she played her part well. If she didn't act as if she was really a time traveler from a time when all these people had tried to kill her or her friends at least once, if they were still alive. If she acted as if she really was Hermione Malfoy.

Araminta gave her a cold look. "Don't play dumb, _Malfoy._ Or is it Malfoy? I don't know."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione tried to put as much spite as she could into it, and as a result sounded as if she was spitting venom. Abraxas noticeably flinched.

"We're talking about the fact that you aren't a Malfoy," Cephas said seriously. "And we want to know who you really are, and why you're here."

"I _am_ a Malfoy," Hermione insisted, almost growling. "I don't know why you think I'm not, but I wish to be released right this instant!"

"I don't think you're who you pretend to be," a new voice joined in icily, and she saw Lycaon with his eyes narrowed on her. In the back of her mind, she noticed that Godric, Asterope, Denebola, Alphard and Elias looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Tell her what you told us, Abraxas."

Hermione's head almost made an audible crack; it turned so fast to focus on Abraxas. Her eyes tried to plead with him, while she wondered what he had told them to put them on their guard. Abraxas gave her a distressed look, his eyes flicking to Riddle, before quietly saying, "Aunt Clarissa didn't die." He stared down at his feet.

"What? She did." Hermione's worry grew as she gave her best 'my-mum-just-died' look. Her delicate web of lies was being trodden on, and she needed to salvage it. "What are you talking about, Abraxas?"

"You say she died a month ago?" Still looking at his feet.

"Yes." The word was drawn out slowly, as if she was wondering why he was repeating what she had already told him.

"I was talking to her in the Floo a month ago." His head lifted now, and he stared her in the eyes with a fire that she had seen in Draco before. There was the bombshell. Yipee. Her life was now forfeited; she had been found out.

"So you see, whoever you are," Araminta cut in, examining a fingernail, "we know you aren't really a Malfoy. You just created some cock-and-bull story. I don't know what you said to make Dippet believe you, but he obviously did. And now," she raised her head and gave Hermione a feral grin, "now, we're going to hurt you until you confess. Good thing you came, I've wanted to try an Unforgivable for _ages._" She raised her wand, and pointed it between Hermione's eyes, her mouth already forming the words. "Cruc-"

"_Stop!_"

The curse died on Araminta's lips, and she gave Hermione a disdainful sneer. "Honey, nothing you say will save you now."

"Oh really?" Hermione retorted, her voice a block of ice. "Abraxas, I want to tell you something. Something important and _confidential_." She gave Araminta a pointed look.

"How dare you talk to Abraxas like he is some- some common _elf!_" Araminta shrieked. "You-"

Araminta was cut off when Riddle said, softly but emotionlessly, "Shut up, Araminta." The loud screeching stopped abruptly "Abraxas, talk to her. See what she says."

Hermione had all but forgotten he was there; he had been standing in the back, quietly watching the proceedings as Araminta, Cephas and Lycaon attempted to threaten her. Now, still standing in the back, it was clear that he was the leader; Abraxas immediately gave a respectful nod, and Riddle moved to the other side of the room, the others following. Araminta gave Hermione the most poisonous glare she had ever seen as she also followed with her nose in the air.

Abraxas approached Hermione and took his wand out. Hermione braced herself for whatever spell was going to come out of it, but Abraxas only put up a '_Muffliato_'. He then turned to her, conjured a plush chair and simply sat, staring at her. She knew he was waiting for her to speak.

"I'm a Malfoy." The words came out softly. "I really am." Hermione knew the best lies were half-truths.

"I…don't know what to believe," Abraxas admitted. "You look like me, sure, but nothing you've said adds up."

"Why didn't you try to threaten or hurt me?" Hermione asked, abruptly changing the subject. Abraxas raised an eyebrow slightly at the less than subtle subject change, but didn't call her on it.

"I like you," he murmured. "I don't know why, but I feel this pull. Right here." And he placed a hand on his stomach. "My magic calls out to you, as if…as if it already _knows_ you." He shook his head, his short blonde hair falling into his eyes at the movement. "I don't know why."

Hermione knew. His magic was recognising its kin – Draco's and her magic had already bonded, and some of his resided in her. She didn't say that, though.

"I'm a Malfoy," Hermione repeated. "And I can prove it." She was pulling out her trump card, and although she knew she would regret it later, it was the only thing she knew would help her. She took in a deep breath. "I know a…Malfoy family secret." If Draco knew that she was going to reveal what he had told her in 'express confidentiality', he'd probably kill her. Or maybe not, seeing as she was telling a family member who already had this problem.

Abraxas' eyes widened, and he doubled the _Muffliato_ instantly.

Hermione watched him, her voice sarcastic. "You people must have a lot of dirty secrets to be this paranoid."

"Well, if you really are a Malfoy," Abraxas' tart reply came, "then you're one of us and therefore have your own fair share of '_dirty secrets_'."

Hermione grimaced. "I concede. Now…" She shifted awkwardly in the ropes. "Um. I don't really know how I'm supposed to say this. Er…" She blushed.

"Just spit it out, Hermione," Abraxas sighed.

"Um. Well, the Malfoy men who aren't married…they have a certain problem," she began, and was abruptly cut off by a hand slapping itself onto her mouth. Abraxas was looking at her with wide eyes, his face the colour of a tomato. He glanced at the others, and then back at her.

"You don't need to say anymore," Abraxas said weakly, removing his hand from her mouth. She gave him a sheepish grin. "I know you're a Malfoy now. I'll…go tell the others." He hurriedly put down the privacy charms he had put up and, with alarming speed, was on the other side of the room, talking Riddle and the gang. Hermione, despite the situation, was amused. She had only ever seen a Malfoy blush once, and that was when Draco was telling her this secret; the reason that he couldn't make love to her.

Sighing and sobering immediately at the reminder of a happy moment with her now-dead husband, she watched as the Slytherins began to walk in her direction. Abraxas was still scarlet, and was not meeting her eyes. By the looks on the others' faces, he hadn't told them how she had convinced him that she was a Malfoy. She didn't blame him; if she was a man, she wouldn't have wanted them to know, either.

"We're so sorry, Hermione!" Asterope cried, rushing forwards first. She took her wand out and vanished the ropes binding Hermione. Hermione winced, and then gave a soft sigh as relief washed over her. She wasn't going to die today. "It's just…we're really paranoid, and we needed to make sure you were okay to be around." She shot Riddle a look as she said this. "You probably have your own reasons for lying to us, and that's okay." She gave Hermione a hug, and Hermione saw over her shoulder that not all the others were happy with this last statement. Riddle, in particular, looked very sour.

Straightening up, the girl gave Hermione a beam, and then was immediately pushed aside by Denebola, who exclaimed the same sentiments as her sister, only worded differently and more dramatic, and embraced the blonde-haired witch. Both girls immediately then said 'good night' and rushed to the stairs, followed by a sullen Araminta. Hermione presumed they were going to the Girls' Dormitory, and watched them go, now sitting up straight on the soft sofa.

"Well…good night then," Abraxas said awkwardly to Hermione, still not looking at her. The other four boys, save for Riddle, echoed him (she noticed Lycaon looking a bit bitter at it, though) and they too left. Then it was just her and Riddle, and she stood up, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible. She was sure it was him who had called out the interrogation squad, and she needed to think. If Voldemort was onto her…it didn't bode well. Her foot was on the stairs when he called out. "Wait."

Hermione stopped, but didn't turn around.

"I know a liar when I see one." The voice sent cold chills down Hermione's spine, and dread pooled in her stomach. "For now, I'll keep your little secrets, but I will find them out soon." Footsteps moving away from her, and then, "By the way, you look better with brown hair." More footsteps, the soft click of the door opening and closing, and he was gone.

Hermione was pale, and trembling. One thought echoed through her mind: _How did he know?_

**Author's Note:**

Yipeeee! I finished this one. :D So, what did you guys think? I'm sorry that they weren't the big friendly (and innocent!) Slytherins you thought they were, but I really don't picture Voldemort's future Death Eaters being so…nice, I guess. At least, not as nice as they acted. Denebola and Asterope are still gossips, though, Abraxas is still a good guy, Alphard's still the ladies' man and Godric, Elias and Cephas are still cool. Araminta's still a cold b***ch and Riddle's nothing like he acted at first (although that's to be expected), and Lycaon will be a bit distant from now on. Sorry!

((By the way, this chapter was dedicated to Soul of the Dark Mark, who told me she loves fanfiction where the Slytherins aren't horrible. I'm hoping this will stop the angry hammer/review that I'll probably get for revealing that it's all a lie. :c))

School's starting, and I can't wait! –insert sarcastic face- But really, it's starting and I won't be able to update as much, because I've been really busy this year and it probably won't be any different this term. I'll try my best to update for you guys, though!

Reviewers get a lovely Voldemort-shaped cookie with pink and green frosting!


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